I Do Not Want to Know
Title: I Do Not Want to Know
Main Story: Cryptomancy
Flavors: Pumpkin Pie #2: witchcraft/supernatural; Pistachio #26: Taking a Break
Word Count: 606
Rating: PG
Summary: Want to know a secret?
Notes: Hey second pumpkin pie, I'm going to pwn this. It was kind of hard to not cop out on this one, since my story is pretty suffused with witchcraft, but I decided to put a different sort of reveal in there.
Over the next few weeks, Bug and I learned how to help each other. She showed me which crows bit and which were friendly, she showed me the way that Lady Bloodrose liked the silver laid out at feasts (backward, to me), and I spoke to the Lady on her behalf, asking her to let Bug wear the same page’s livery I did. I didn’t consider it much of an accomplishment, but when Bug laid her hand on the plush red velvet she let out a weak and grateful sob, and in that moment it was worth it.
She was so strange to me. The way she never seemed not to know where she was, her cryptic manner of speaking. She was constantly full of prophecy, she inhaled the world’s scents and sounds, and then breathed out truth. She knew so much, in fact, that it made me uncomfortable. After all, if she knew so much about the world, how could she fail to know all the same things about the workings of my inner self?
Still, her company was helpful, almost necessary. Each day, after feeding the crows, she and I would sit in the top aviary’s huge window, our feet swinging in empty air, bouncing against the tower’s red face.
“Want to know a secret?” said Bug one day, as we sat in that same place.
It was a far more poignant question than it seemed on the surface. Secrets were more valuable than gold, here. They also almost always were a double-edged sword with no hilt. “Alright,” I answered hesitantly.
Bug’s face lit up, in the way that only an eyeless face can. Her excitement seemed to drip from every pore. She leaned forward, and pushed my too-long hair back from my ear. “Jenny Three-toes is in love,” she whispered, her breath hot against my skin.
I laughed. Jenny Three-toes, who ran the kitchens with an iron fist, in love? It seemed absurd. “With what?” I asked incredulously, and Bug gave me a little shove.
“She’s a person too, you know,” she said, but then added, “with Thorne,” in a conspiratorial tone.
“The guard?” That was as stupefying as anything else. But then another thought occurred to me. “Did she tell you that?”
Something like guilt crossed Bug’s face. “Not exactly,” she replied. “I just…well, I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Well, did someone else tell you?” I asked. It seemed the only other explanation.
Bug frowned. “I read it on her.”
“…Because that makes sense.”
“No,” she agreed, “it doesn’t. But it’s like the bees.”
“The bees?”
She shrugged. “You know, they can smell fear?”
It was true, at least that was what I had heard. Bees had senses we didn’t. “…Yes,” I answered.
“Well, it’s not hard to smell fear, but if you are really careful, you can smell other things.”
“So, you smelled her love on her skin?”
Bug looked thoughtful, and scratched at the skin beneath the mask that covered her eyes. “Yes,” she replied. “Or something like it. Every feeling, every thought has a scent. It carries on their sweat.”
“So,” I said, the picture coming together, “you can read someone’s thoughts by smelling their skin?” The thought of that made me so uneasy I couldn’t even put it into words. “Do you…do you smell my thoughts, too?”
She shook her head, enthusiastically, but not so much so that it seemed suspect. I believed her. “No, I could never,” she said simply.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because,” she said, reaching out and twining her fingers with mine. “I do not want to know what you are thinking.”
Main Story: Cryptomancy
Flavors: Pumpkin Pie #2: witchcraft/supernatural; Pistachio #26: Taking a Break
Word Count: 606
Rating: PG
Summary: Want to know a secret?
Notes: Hey second pumpkin pie, I'm going to pwn this. It was kind of hard to not cop out on this one, since my story is pretty suffused with witchcraft, but I decided to put a different sort of reveal in there.
Over the next few weeks, Bug and I learned how to help each other. She showed me which crows bit and which were friendly, she showed me the way that Lady Bloodrose liked the silver laid out at feasts (backward, to me), and I spoke to the Lady on her behalf, asking her to let Bug wear the same page’s livery I did. I didn’t consider it much of an accomplishment, but when Bug laid her hand on the plush red velvet she let out a weak and grateful sob, and in that moment it was worth it.
She was so strange to me. The way she never seemed not to know where she was, her cryptic manner of speaking. She was constantly full of prophecy, she inhaled the world’s scents and sounds, and then breathed out truth. She knew so much, in fact, that it made me uncomfortable. After all, if she knew so much about the world, how could she fail to know all the same things about the workings of my inner self?
Still, her company was helpful, almost necessary. Each day, after feeding the crows, she and I would sit in the top aviary’s huge window, our feet swinging in empty air, bouncing against the tower’s red face.
“Want to know a secret?” said Bug one day, as we sat in that same place.
It was a far more poignant question than it seemed on the surface. Secrets were more valuable than gold, here. They also almost always were a double-edged sword with no hilt. “Alright,” I answered hesitantly.
Bug’s face lit up, in the way that only an eyeless face can. Her excitement seemed to drip from every pore. She leaned forward, and pushed my too-long hair back from my ear. “Jenny Three-toes is in love,” she whispered, her breath hot against my skin.
I laughed. Jenny Three-toes, who ran the kitchens with an iron fist, in love? It seemed absurd. “With what?” I asked incredulously, and Bug gave me a little shove.
“She’s a person too, you know,” she said, but then added, “with Thorne,” in a conspiratorial tone.
“The guard?” That was as stupefying as anything else. But then another thought occurred to me. “Did she tell you that?”
Something like guilt crossed Bug’s face. “Not exactly,” she replied. “I just…well, I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Well, did someone else tell you?” I asked. It seemed the only other explanation.
Bug frowned. “I read it on her.”
“…Because that makes sense.”
“No,” she agreed, “it doesn’t. But it’s like the bees.”
“The bees?”
She shrugged. “You know, they can smell fear?”
It was true, at least that was what I had heard. Bees had senses we didn’t. “…Yes,” I answered.
“Well, it’s not hard to smell fear, but if you are really careful, you can smell other things.”
“So, you smelled her love on her skin?”
Bug looked thoughtful, and scratched at the skin beneath the mask that covered her eyes. “Yes,” she replied. “Or something like it. Every feeling, every thought has a scent. It carries on their sweat.”
“So,” I said, the picture coming together, “you can read someone’s thoughts by smelling their skin?” The thought of that made me so uneasy I couldn’t even put it into words. “Do you…do you smell my thoughts, too?”
She shook her head, enthusiastically, but not so much so that it seemed suspect. I believed her. “No, I could never,” she said simply.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because,” she said, reaching out and twining her fingers with mine. “I do not want to know what you are thinking.”